


Small Victories

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruises, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Budding Love, Clint Barton's lack of brain to mouth filter, Clint's relationship record, First Kiss, Hyperthymesiac Clint, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pre-Relationship, boys being dumb, clint/bobbi (past relationship), even more angst in part 2, hands fixation, mentioned sam/steve/nat, more hand holding, reverse harpies, slightly less angst in part 3, some sketchy ass explanation because reasons, there's some angst, wallowing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes does not have a thing for Clint’s hands. They’re not what he thinks about when Clint shoots arrows into moving targets in the training room, no sir. They’re just impressive. The archer’s hands are big – not as big as his, Steve’s, or Thor’s, but still big – and capable of holding a fistful of arrows even as he’s drawing back and aiming at a target. They’re covered in calluses, as expected. There’s a delicacy to them evident in how he treats his bow, braids Thor’s hair, and signs with Natasha on the days he doesn’t wear his hearing aids. They’re talented, but Bucky definitely does not have a thing for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James Barnes does not have a thing for Clint’s hands. They’re not what he thinks about when Clint shoots arrows into moving targets in the training room, no sir. They’re just impressive. The archer’s hands are big – not as big as his, Steve’s, or Thor’s, but still big – and capable of holding a fistful of arrows even as he’s drawing back and aiming at a target. They’re covered in calluses, as expected. There’s a delicacy to them evident in how he treats his bow, braids Thor’s hair, and signs with Natasha on the days he doesn’t wear his hearing aids. They’re talented, but Bucky definitely does not have a thing for them.

They’re hands after all, most people have them. Natasha’s are small and dainty, but oh so capable. Tony’s are roughened and covered in grease and burns from whatever project he’s working on at the moment. Steve’s are big, eternally strong, soft, and warm from the serum. And while Bucky does find all of team’s hands impressive (they can do so much good, so much that two flesh hands can do that one soft and one metal cannot ever hope to reach in atonement), he only finds himself fixating on Barton’s hands.

He might admit to having a thing about those square hands.

\---

“Need a hand?” Clint asks him sometime after his revelation. Bucky only turns from his copy of Frankenstein to stare at the blond with an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Need an ear?” He asks in return, causing the archer to grimace.

“Okay, that was in bad taste. But I kinda noticed you staring at my hands.” Bucky tries to quash down the feeling of the blood filling his cheeks. He’s a goddamn assassin; assassins don’t blush, no matter what his body might think. “And uh, I thought maybe you were jealous? Though that obviously wasn’t it cuz you don’t really stare at anyone else’s hands.” Clint shrugs. “So I figured I’d just ask. This backfired though, didn’t it?”

Bucky shakes his head and lets himself smile as Clint sags in relief. “No it’s uh,” he coughs, and mentally curses his body for letting his heart rate speed up, “it’s um, I really like your hands.” The words rush out quickly.

“You serious?” Clint asks incredulously. “I mean, yeah they’re probably my best feature, but you have a thing for my _hands_?” Oh, if only the sniper could wake up from this. “Thanks, man. I needed that ego boost.” Clint grins goofily and walks away.

\---

The next time they’re out in the field, Clint’s whistling some tune over the comms as he fires arrow after arrow at the reverse harpies that are swarming and attempting to attack the civilians in Norfolk, Virginia.

They all tell him to shut up, but of course, the archer doesn’t listen. Bucky spares him a glance, and feels some warmth unfurl inside him as he watches as Clint grin and whistle as he loses himself in his element. There are small scratches and bruises forming from where the creatures had gotten too close and started pecking and punching him. His hands are at their full potential, gripping his bow and a handful of arrows as he watches a majority of the battle happen below him. Every once in a while, he interrupts his whistling to give some piece of advice or complain about fighting against his fellow bird folk. Bucky laughs at that.

“Don’t encourage him.” Nat groans as Clint goes back to whistling.

After the battle, as they’re flying back to the tower, Nat turns to Clint and asks, “So why were you humming _I Want to Hold Your Hand_?”

Bucky definitely does not blush. Not that anyone is going to notice. Clint and Natasha are in the cockpit, Tony’s passed out over a few seats, Steve and Sam are curled up together, and Thor flew off ahead of them. Bruce had elected to stay home (their home, the words wash over the constant sense of not belonging inside of him and nearly shakes his core), seeing how the Hulk would have just caused a bigger mess against the bird people.

“No reason.” Clint answers, and Bucky wonders if there’s a grin on the archer’s face.

\---

It takes him a week to find an opportunity to lace his fingers with Barton’s. They’re in the elevator on the way up to a party that Stark’s throwing. It’s been two years since the battle of New York and the official coming together of the Avengers.

Clint’s in the elevator before Bucky, and if the size of his pupils are anything to go by, he’s already drunk. The assassin knows why, and he knows he’ll be the same way when they inevitably throw a party for the anniversary of him joining the team.

“Hey.” Clint greets him. There’s false mirth to his tone and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks back down after Bucky nods back in response. As the doors slide to a close behind him, he moves to stand on Clint’s left. After a few seconds of quiet, he reaches over and takes Clint’s hand in his and squeezes it gently. Clint sighs in response and squeezes back.

They’re both not ready to talk about whatever’s happening between them, but Bucky doesn’t mind as long as he can keep holding onto Clint’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes up with bruises that he doesn't remember getting. Bucky blames himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a part 2 since it felt too short to go anywhere on its own. I'm thinking this might become a series, actually.

There are bruises on his skin that Clint doesn’t remember getting. It’s something he’s used to; he’s surprisingly clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on attacking or defending. He walks into counters, street poles, tripped over his own feet, accidentally cut himself while helping out with dinner, and spilled coffee all over himself.  
“Did I do that to you?” He hears to the right of him, the words so soft that they are barely picked up by his hearing aids. He turns and looks at his lover. Bucky’s still lying down on his back; if not for the words and the eye barely cracked open, Clint would have thought he was sleeping.  
The archer shrugs, grimacing a bit when the motion tugs on a sore shoulder. “Maybe? I dunno.” He shifts and scratches at his junk. “In case you haven’t noticed, I kinda get hit. A lot.” He shrugs again and lies back down on his side, facing the brunet. “It’s my thing.” He pauses. “Do you think you did this?”  
Bucky sighs, moving his arm to make space for Clint to snuggle closer. “I still have nightmares. It wouldn’t be too surprising if I woke up and found out I accidentally choked you to death.”  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my fighting skills.” Clint answers dryly. “It’s not like I used to be an assassin or anything.” He doesn’t move closer. If there’s one thing he’s tired of, it’s the world treating him like he’s not capable of anything. He’s only a human, but he’s the only human on the Avengers.  
“That’s not what I –”  
“No, I get it. You’ve got a metal arm, super strength, and so much futzing PTSD that you still tense up around Steve sometimes. It’s cool.” No one else noticed, of course. Well, maybe Nat. But she didn’t speak about it to Clint. “And I’m just a human. But you do realize I help save the world right? Like, I’m not just some average joe, Buck. I’ve fought way worse and lived to tell the tale. You’re futzed up, I get it. I’m still messed up from Loki, and you went through way worse. So I get it, but you can’t worry about this. I'm not a child." He lets himself relax. "Don't treat me like everyone else does."  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be like that." Bucky pulls the archer close with his metal arm, curling around Clint as he apologizes. "I just don't want to hurt you." He presses a kiss to Clint's forehead.  
"I know. Just trust me, okay? If you're just going to be worrying the whole time we're together, this isn't going to work." He doesn't say that he knows from experience. He doesn't say that that's what eventually drove Bobbi away.  
"I'm trying." The assassin's face is contorted with frustration. Clint's sorry it's come to this, but it's probably better that it happens now rather than months down the road. Still, he hates that Bucky's looking like this because of him.   
He moves a hand up into the brunet's hair. "Thank you. That's all I want." He moves even closer. "I trust you, you know that right?"  
Bucky sighs as a hand moves through his hair, again and again. "I know. Thank you."  
"Makeup sex?" Bucky snorts.   
"You're ridiculous."  
"You love me."  
"Yeah, I do." He plans on putting some new bruises on Clint, some that both of them would enjoy. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things considered, Clint thinks Bucky’s adjusted well to living with the Avengers. He regularly kicks their asses when they spar with him, and he has no hesitations about fighting Steve, which they had worried about. He practices in the range, speaks Russian with Nat, and goes on missions with them.  
> Clint's probably imagining the problem. Probably.

All things considered, Clint thinks Bucky’s adjusted well to living with the Avengers. He regularly kicks their asses when they spar with him, and he has no hesitations about fighting Steve, which they had worried about. He practices in the range, speaks Russian with Nat, and goes on missions with them.

It’s pretty remarkable considering all he’d been through.

Clint remembers all of his brainwashing and had spent weeks avoiding anything that might remind him of what had happened. Instead, he’d traveled to warm beaches and lost himself in heat and pool tables. Stark had flown in to tell him to come home, a word he didn’t think he’d ever really associate with any specific place after how messed up his childhood had been, but he did find himself missing the rest of the team. So he shrugged, agreed, and he and Tony had gotten splendidly drunk on the private flight back to the tower.

But Barnes, Bucky has adjusted to his past self and present self within months, which seems incredible. There are only a few problems. One: Clint is absolutely crushing on the guy. It was partially because they’re both sharpshooters. But that slides back in his mind when he considers Bucky’s body and personality. This isn’t too much of a problem actually; since Bucky had admitted to liking his hands, they’ve been flirting more, both on and off the battlefield. But they haven’t gone any further than that and the one time they’d held hands on the way to the Avengers anniversary party. It’s pretty clear that Bucky feels something for him too. But whatever Bucky feels is complicated, and Clint has never been good with complicated. So yeah, problem number one.

Problem two is something that Clint is probably imagining. Probably. He’s good at observation, since it’s literally his job (that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying and sometimes overwhelming to take in ocular data and store it every damn second), and he’s certain he’s never seen the man without a shirt on. Even after intense rounds of sparring, when it’s Bucky vs. Steve and Nat, the man never takes his shirt off, even when Steve lets his glorious abs see the light of day (he’s almost jealous of Nat and Sam getting to look at that every night, almost; but it’s nothing solid and he doesn’t feel about Steve the way he does about Bucky). He never showers in the communal showers, which Clint can’t fault him for after seeing Thor’s impressive junk. He’s probably imagining it, but he’s still pretty sure that Bucky’s never let any of them see him shirtless. He should probably let it go.

The thing with Clint though, is once he gets a thought in his head, he gets stuck on that path, especially during downtime. It’s why the days when he remembers being possessed are extremely terrible. He remembers every damn second and it takes over sometimes. He wades through the memories, reliving every movement, every fatal move, every betrayal to SHIELD. He locks himself in his room those days, when he’s actually able to get out of bed and move to the door (he’s convinced that JARVIS locks the door on the days where he’s really not in control).

Moving past that, thoughts get stuck in his head. He wonders if it’s the same for Bucky, especially since he has a physical reminder of what happened. Clint wonders if it’s the scar tissue that throws him for a loop, or the contrast between metal and flesh. Either way, he knows he can’t really confront Bucky about it, despite how much it’s on his mind.

\---

They’re at the range when Clint messes it all up. He’s staring at the arm while Bucky does push-ups. It’s mesmerizing to watch the plates shift and slide with his movements. It’s magical and scientific and he can kind of see what Tony wants to open it up and see how it works. Kind of.

“You’re staring.” Bucky states, even as he continues working out. He doesn’t even sound bothered by how hard he’s been working himself for the past half hour, which irritates Clint.

“Sorry. It just looks cool.” Clint’s mouth says without his permission.

Bucky snorts. “Would’ve thought that you’d be used to seeing people do push-ups, birdie.”

“Not that. Well kinda that. But I meant your arm.” They both freeze at the same moment. _Futz._ “Uh.”

After a few seconds, Bucky pushes himself back up, and then stands up. His face is a carefully constructed blank aside from his wide eyes, and Clint has really messed up. “I’m not some science project, Barton.” He’s messed up so much, if Bucky isn’t calling him different bird related words. “Fuck you.”

“That’s not what I meant! Or not how I meant it!” Clint pleads. Great to see his relationship disaster record has come back to ruin this before it even started. Great. Bucky is storming out and ignoring his words, and this has gone to hell in a handbasket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this almost immediately after pt. 2 but things kept getting in the way, I'm so sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up almost immediately where chapter 3 ended.

Bucky's avoiding him. Sure, it's Clint's fault, but it still hurts to realize that Bucky's actively avoiding him as he checks his (their, they've been theirs for a while) nests around the tower. Clint sighs as he makes it to the last one for this floor. There's a chance that Buck asked Jarvis to let him know where Clint is to better avoid him, but it's more likely that he's hiding out in one of his private hiding spaces that he hasn't let Clint know about. It's hypocritical that that hurts, considering Clint hasn't shown him all of his nests yet. It only serves to reinforce the reality that they really aren't anything yet; that this thing is so fragile, so new, that it's easy to destroy before it becomes something.

He hurts and it's all his fault.

Clint considers talking to Natasha and letting her know what happened. She might know already actually, on the off chance that Bucky went to her or one of her boyfriends. After all, out of all the people in the tower, Bucky knows them the best and trusts them the most. Clint tries to convince himself that the thought doesn't hurt at all. It's not that he isn't glad that Bucky has people he can go to, it's just that he wishes he was one of them too.

He's not sure if he can be, now.

He wants to run to Bucky and explain himself. He needs to explain that he doesn't admire Bucky solely due to his arm. It's all tied together to the bigger picture of who Bucky is, and what he's overcome. The arm itself is fascinating, but the way Bucky's able to control it and manipulate is more amazing to Clint.

Bucky deserves time to himself right now though. He deserves to be away from Clint and the way he messes things up.

He deserves that.

He deserves better than Clint.

Clint shakes the thought out of his head as he makes his way out of the nest. It's true, but he knows the path that thought can lead him down and he's really not interested in wallowing in self-pity today. Not when he's at fault.

Clint heads back to his bedroom. He turns on the TV and blasts Iron Chef America as he eats potato chips and drinks shitty IPAs an acquaintance from a brewery insisted that he try. He considers stripping down, before he decides against it, since anyone could still come into his room and the superhero community surprisingly isn't big on knocking despite the fact that they all have PTSD. He tries very hard not to think about how he's messed up and how he really just wants to run to Bucky now and basically beg for forgiveness.

Bucky deserves time to feel angry and hurt, he tells himself. It's a partial truth, an excuse he feeds himself so he doesn't face the fact that he's chickenshit and terrified that Bucky will tell him to hit the road if Clint goes to him now. "

Hey, J?" He asks as he mutes the TV.

"Yes, Agent Barton?" The ever calm voice replies.

"I'm figuring you can't tell me where he is, but can you tell me if he's alone?"

There's a pause, as if the AI is contemplating whether it should respond to Clint, but eventually it responds with, "No. He's not alone."

Clint nods. "Good... that's good." He mutters, more to himself than to the AI. If there's one thing Bucky should never be, it's alone, especially when he's upset. He's been through too damn much to suffer on his own. That's the only good thing about this whole situation; he isn't alone with his emotions. "Thanks, J."

Jarvis doesn't acknowledge him, so he un-mutes the show and curls up more on the couch.

He loses track of the show, getting lost in his thoughts about Bucky. Clint's pretty certain that nothing will ever happen between them now that he's royally messed up. He lets himself think about every second they've spent together, even though he knows it's just going to hurt more. He thinks about the first time they spent the night together, watching cheesy 80s action movies in the communal living room while everyone else slept. They'd both been too wired to sleep, but too exhausted to do more than burn the hours snacking and watching TV. They hadn't really talked, but the company had been nice, especially when Bucky laughed along with him or groaned at the terrible puns. When Bucky had eventually passed out on a sofa, Clint got him a blanket and covered him before he left, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful he seemed despite, well, everything. He'd known since then that he wanted to be there for the other man as much as possible.

He still does, and he's willing to take whatever Bucky will give him (though there's a part of him that says he doesn't deserve anything) even though he still desperately wants them to have something romantically.

 _Enough of this,_ Clint decides. He stands up and turns takes the chips and booze back to the kitchenette, tossing the bag on the counter and dumping the drink down the sink.

Tomorrow he'll ask Jarvis if Bucky would be up to talking with him. He'll apologize, explain, and hopefully get the words right. They'll move past this somehow and -

There's a knock on his door. Clint pauses, startled from his thoughts. Iron Chef is still blasting from his living room and he's sure that whoever is outside his door can hear it.

Why was he complaining about people never knocking? This is infinitely worse, trying to guess who it is and not get his hopes up. He's still just standing in the kitchenette and the second knock, more hesitant, makes him drop the glass bottle in the sink before he finally can make himself move. The walk to the door seems extremely long, as he runs scenarios through his head about who could actually be at his door, and why.

He yanks it open, only to have his heart stop again when it's Bucky, his foot raised as if he's going to take a step back and leave.

"Um." Of course, Clint greets him eloquently. "Hi." Bucky looks just as uncomfortable and unprepared for this as Clint feels, which does nothing to soothe him. Alton Brown is still yelling about the contestants on the TV, and there's still the bitter taste of the IPA on his tongue, both of which make this seem even more awkward. "Do you want to come in?" He asks, still not completely sure what to say. Bucky's silence isn't helping any.

"Yeah. Figure I should." He sounds reluctant. The TV switches off as Clint steps out of the doorway to let Bucky in. It's annoying, since the silence makes this seem even more awkward than before.

The silence stretches on for a moment as they both seem to gather their thoughts.

"I really am sorry." Clint finally breaks the quietness, figuring he should be the one to start. After all, he got them here, to this place where neither of them feel fine. "What I said was terrible, no matter how I intended it, and I am so sorry, Buck." He isn't expecting forgiveness, but Bucky doesn't seem angry, only guarded and upset. Bucky doesn't say anything, not yet (Clint wonders if he's stunned by the fact that someone is apologizing for hurting him and, god he can't think about that right now or he might lose his mind or do something stupid like kiss him or hug him), and so Clint continues on. "I'd be pissed if I were in your place and I'm not expecting you to forgive me. Just wanted you to know I'm sorry."

Bucky nods, looking tired. "Not angry. Anymore, at least. It's just," he sighs, "outta everyone I thought you'd get it."

Clint feels even worse now. He wants to bridge the gap between them. Physically, they're only a few feet apart, but it feels like they're standing on opposite sides of a ravine. He takes a step forwards, feeling brave and scared and encouraged when Bucky doesn't move away at all. He grabs Bucky's right hand and squeezes it gently.

"I messed up." He says softly. "I'm no good with words, Buck. I understand, I really do."

He remembers the testing, the prodding, and the unbearable distrust he suffered through after Loki was taken off planet. He remembers flinching at any jokes, any time someone said they felt like they were out of their mind. He remembers the anger growing in him every time he wasn't able to change something, every time others made him feel powerless.

He feels like such an ass.

"Can I tell you what I meant?" Clint asks instead of apologizing again. "You can stop me at any time."

The guarded look comes back, but Bucky nods.

"It's amazing how you're able to control it. How it's just another part of you. The fact that it was made to destroy, but you use it for saving others and doing the damn laundry. You're still living with what they've done to you and you're able to use it for good, against everything they wanted you to be."

The tension is leaving Buck's eyes and shoulders.

"I just thought that, I dunno, that you feel self conscious about it, and," He cuts himself off with a shrug. "I just think you're amazing. And it's messed up that you feel self conscious about your body."

Bucky blinks at him. "Wait, what?"

Now Clint's confused. "Well, you never take your shirt off so I thought -"

Bucky cuts him off with a full bodied laugh. His head is tossed back, his hands clutching at his gut as his shoulders shake.

Clint is very confused. And possibly embarrassed. He's not sure on embarrassed yet. He settles for saying, "I got something wrong, didn't I?"

"Oh birdie," Bucky says as he wipes at the corners of his eyes, "You're always good at making me laugh."

Okay, Clint's definitely embarrassed now. "Gonna share with me, or just let me stand here feeling dumb?"

"I'm always cold, Clint. The formula they injected me with got used to the cold, so it raised up my body temperature and now I'm almost always cold, you dork."

Well, now he just feels really embarrassed. "Well, uh, now I feel dumb."

Bucky shrugs. "Not like you could've known. Still funny though." His grin shifts into a smirk. "If you wanted to see me shirtless though, you could've just asked." Bucky winks at him and reaches out to take Clint's hand.

"Yeah? We're good?" Clint asks as he moves closer. He studies Bucky's eyes. He's already memorized what they look like, but he wants more memories of them.

"We're good." Bucky says before he tilts his head down.

They close their eyes in time as their lips meet.

 

 

 

Immediately afterwards:  
Bucky breaks away and sputters. "Why does your mouth taste so gross?"

"I was wallowing with booze and chips."

"God, you're a disaster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to post this last night, but parties and alcohol are not conducive to anything aside from eating, giggling, and sleeping.  
> In any case, I'm sorta back. College classes literally started today, so hopefully I'll have time to continue.  
> Also, I don't know if the ending really makes sense, but I liked it, and so, it stays.  
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter (which is partially why I took so long to fiddle with it), but hey, I would rather not wait another year or so only to decide that it's alright.

**Author's Note:**

> This stemmed from a post on tumblr that said, "Important Question: if your OTP put their hands palm by palm together, whose hands would be bigger?" I seriously don't know where this came from aside from that.


End file.
